


i don't need a plan, i'll just plan on you

by idontneedyourlifeline



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Author is trans, Canon Asexual Character, Cat adoption, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Martin Blackwood Has Chronic Pain, Nonbinary Melanie King, Post-Canon, Trans Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, adopts a cat, author has chronic pain, its not mentioned but i project my specific ace flavour onto him lol, its projection hours baybey, so basically jmart just, so much fluff oh my god, there are plants first bc theyre responsible, they dont kiss but its very soft and romantic, why is that not a tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:35:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29421687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idontneedyourlifeline/pseuds/idontneedyourlifeline
Summary: Jon and Martin go through the steps of adopting a cat. They buy a plant first, because Martin is concerned about their ability to care for things. It's a process, but they get there in the end.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 1
Kudos: 36





	i don't need a plan, i'll just plan on you

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Plan on You by Adam Melchor. Content Warnings in the end notes.

“We cannot get a cat. We don’t know the first thing about taking care of living things, love,” Martin said, the third iteration of this conversation they’d had in a month. Jon was desperate to have a cat, spent his days off cooing at the ones in the shelter down the road. But Martin was right, and they both knew it. Neither of them knew the first thing about caring for anything living - they could barely care for themselves, for goodness’ sake. Martin’s new non-spooky (And didn’t Jon hate it when he called it that) job had him out of the city regularly, so he wasn’t exactly fit for it. And Jon… well, he tended to forget things. He’d probably forget to eat if Martin didn’t remind him over text every now and again. Once, Martin had found a load of washing sitting in stale water, slightly smelly after three days forgotten in the machine. They were not the ideal pair to have a cat, no matter how much they wanted to be. It would be cruel to subject one to that, just because they liked the idea of it. 

After that third conversation, Jon didn’t bring it up for a while. Martin could tell he still thought about it. It was clear in the moments of silence, Jon was imagining having a cat to fill the dead air. Two weeks later, he brought it up again. They were in bed, Jon curled into Martin’s side, Martin’s hands threaded through his long hair, doing and undoing tiny little braids.   
“I’ve been thinking about the cat thing again,” Jon said, his voice small and soft.   
Martin hummed, but didn’t interject.  
“I did some googling, and apparently it’s good to start with something smaller? A plant, something like that.”  
Martin thought for a moment.   
“A plant? We could try it. We can go to the little nursery by Melanie and Georgie’s this weekend. I think we’re overdue for a visit to them anyway.”   
Jon made a happy little noise at that, and it was decided. They would start with a plant. 

\-----

They ventured out to Georgie and Melanie’s first, not wanting to carry a plant there and back home. Melanie opened the door, still in their pyjamas, halfway through scrubbing a hand over their face. Martin checked the bracelet around their wrist. Purple. They/them today, then.  
“Is The Admiral there? We’ve come to visit him,” Jon said, announcing himself.  
“What are you two doing here? It’s early,” Melanie replied, drawing out the last syllable  
“It’s eleven o’clock, love. They’re here exactly when they said they’d be.” Georgie called from the depths of the house. Melanie sighed and stepped aside to let them in.  
Jon was immediately drawn to The Admiral, who wound his way between his legs until Jon plopped onto the floor, cross-legged, scooping The Admiral into his lap. Martin looked on fondly, until Melanie nudged him into the living room.   
“He’ll probably be there a while. D’you want tea?”   
At his affirmation, Georgie appeared in the doorway, having been listening in.   
“Still Earl Grey? Sugar and a teeny bit of milk?” 

\-----

A few hours later, once Jon was done fawning over The Admiral, and the day had settled comfortably into afternoon weather, they made their way to the nursery. It was small, squished between a cafe and a Tesco, filled with little plants in plastic pots, on shelves, on the floor, hanging from the ceiling.   
“We want a basic houseplant,” Jon announced to the shop attendant, and she led them through the shop, towards a shelf of plants with broad leaves.   
“These are very popular as first time houseplants, very easy to take care of,” she’d said, and that was that. They walked out of the shop, a little pot nestled securely in Martin’s arms. It only occurred to them once they’d shut the door to their flat, and Jon had collapsed on the couch while Martin situated their purchase in the spot they’d picked, that they had no clue what the plant was called, or exactly what care it needed. Oh well. Surely it couldn’t be that hard, right? Easy to take care of, the woman in the shop had told them. 

A week later, Martin realised exactly how wrong he was. Jon had been taking care of the plant in the most logical way, sitting it in the sun during the day, watering it every morning and evening, more if the top layer of soil looked dry. He even played it classical music, and Martin had caught him with the pot cradled in his arms on the couch after work one day, talking to it very seriously about some piece of office drama he’d become privy to. He’d had to resist running to find his phone so he could take a photo. But it didn’t last. By Sunday, exactly seven days after they’d bought the plant, the leaves were no longer stiff and dark green, instead drooping sadly, soft and brown. 

Martin found them a garden store a little closer to home, and they caught the tube there, foregoing their lunch plans with Daisy due to Jon’s distress over the situation. She’d understood of course, had chuckled over the phone, told Martin that Jon was going soft. He’d not relayed that particular tidbit back to Jon, who looked close to sobbing over the apparent death of his plant. When they pushed open the doors of the store, Jon was the one who marched up to the counter.   
“We bought this plant, a week ago, and we’ve been taking really good care of it - we want a cat you see-” here, Martin coughed to let him know he was getting off topic “-and now it’s dead, and I don’t know what I’ve done wrong,” Jon told the shop attendant, who looked slightly overwhelmed by the speed at which he spoke.   
“Well, it looks like you’ve severely overwatered it. I think rot might’ve developed on the roots, I can check if you like?”  
“I- overwatered? Ah, roots, yes please.”  
And so the attendant carefully pulled the plant, soil and all, from its pot. Jon made a noise of distress until Martin slid his hand into his own, and they watched as she brushed soil away from the roots. She clicked her tongue.  
“Yup. That’s rot. I’d probably suggest starting over, if you’re new to this. I can take care of this one and help you find a new one that’s more suited to your plant care habits, if you like?” she said gently. Jon’s eyebrows were drawn together, he’d become attached to the plant. But he nodded at the suggestion, and the attendant led them to a row of shelves. 

“So, by the sounds of it, you water your plants quite regularly? What’s the light situation like in the room you were keeping the first one?”  
“Bright, but we have curtains we can close during the day,” Martin supplied.   
“Okay so I would probably suggest a Monstera to start with, they’re really easy to care for, they love water and lots of light.”   
“Like these?” Jon asked, gesturing at a small rack of plants with big heart-shaped leaves.   
“Yep!”   
Jon inspected the rack, deciding on a plant, giving Martin a chance to look at the rest of the store. It was filled with plants, even more so than the first nursery they’d visited, but little garden sculptures were present too, everything from gnomes to dolphins and a cat. That one caught his eye, and he wandered over to look at it. It was clay, little green glass spheres embedded in the eye sockets, flowery designs etched into its body. It was ugly, objectively speaking, but charming. So, when Jon had picked his Monstera plant, Martin picked the little cat up and placed it on the counter next to it. 

\-----

“I still can’t believe you bought that thing. We don’t even have a garden,” Jon said to him on the tube home.  
“I think he’s charming. We can put him next to the TV,” Martin replied, the wrapped clay cat nestled in his lap. Jon made a face at that, somewhere between fond and exasperated, eyes shining. 

The walk home from the tube was long, Jon insisting on trying to hold Martin’s hand and his new plant at the same time, as Martin juggled his own parcel. Once they finally got home, Jon placed his plant where the old one had first sat.   
“I think if I want this one to stay alive, I need to give it a name. I imagine the other one not having one probably didn’t help it feel healthy and happy.”  
Martin did not point out that plants didn’t have feelings. He knew it would serve to do nothing but make Jon grumpy.   
“Okay. So what will you name it?” he asked after a moment.  
“The Captain,” Jon said firmly.   
“If we get a bunch of plants we could have a little army. Name them all ranks and things,” Martin teased. Jon looked genuinely delighted by the idea. 

\-----

The Captain survived much longer than its predecessor, and seemed to be even thriving, three months later. Jon coddled it, it became a fixation of his. Every morning, when he stumbled out of bed half an hour after Martin, he would accept his cup of tea, water The Captain, and then sit in the seat closest to it on their worn couch. Then, he proceeded to tell it all about his plans for the day. It was absolutely adorable, but Martin did not tell him that, because then he might stop doing it. And Martin quite liked watching from his perch on the stool in the kitchen. It was a nice way to start his morning.   
There was a day nestled in there, where Martin had a particularly bad flare up and couldn’t bring himself to move. Every time he tried, pain spiked through his limbs, the dull ache he was used to becoming a sharp roar. He tried to muffle the little squeaks of pain that escaped him, but he couldn’t hide them entirely. And of course, when Jon woke up, he noticed.   
“Bad pain day?” he asked, and Martin grunted his affirmation.   
Jon’s weight beside him in bed disappeared, which confused Martin. Usually on days like these, Jon clung to Martin. He would sit in bed and comfort him until the sun shone through the curtains, and then he would go and make them both some very subpar tea, nudging Martin to an upright position.   
Martin didn’t have to worry too long, because Jon returned, the bed dipping slightly under his weight. He took up his usual position seated next to Martin, pillows propped up behind him.   
“I brought a friend,” Jon said lightly, and Martin felt the curve of The Captain’s pot slide in between them, somewhere by Martin’s hip.  
“You brought The Captain into our bed?” Martin almost laughed.  
“Well, it makes me feel better, I figured maybe it might help you too? If anything else, it made you laugh a bit?”   
“You’re so silly. I love you,” Martin said, looking at Jon with soft eyes.   
“I love you too. Do you want anything else?”  
“Um, no-” he shifted, and another shot of pain sparked through him. He winced. “Actually, maybe a heat pack?”

They spent the rest of the day like that, on the bed, Martin curled up around his heat pack, The Captain’s pot on his bedside table, Jon at his side with a hand tangled in his hair as he idly worked on something on his laptop. They cycled through podcasts and music and TV shows, and Martin felt horrible, physically, dizzy with pain. But there was a warm feeling in his chest, too. Jon was fussing less, this time around, content to sit bundled in a big jumper, hair bunched in a knot. The Captain brought a spot of colour to the room. He wasn’t exactly pleased, that he’d had to take a day off work, that he needed Jon there like this, but he was content. 

\-----

A month later, they talked about getting a cat again. In that time, Jon had bought three more plants of varying species, and each of them was thriving. He’d had to repot The Captain, and he’d found a lovely orange pot to keep it in, big enough for it to grow more. When Martin came home from work, he found Jon already bundled up on the couch, looking at animal shelter websites. Jon looked up at him.  
“I have four plants and none of them have died. And I’ll set alarms to feed it, just in case I forget. And your work trips have settled down, so even if I do forget, you’ll be here, and I think that we’re ready,” he said, calm and measured.   
“We can go to the shelter this weekend, if you like?” Martin asked.  
Jon looked extremely pleased, and stood to pull Martin over to sit with him, so he could show him the websites he’d been looking at. 

The shelter was quiet the day they went.  
“Ah, Jon! You’re back again!” the woman at the counter, a plump woman with dark skin exclaimed cheerily.   
“Hi Ava,” Jon smiled.  
“Who’s this you’ve brought-” she gasped “-Is this your husband? Am I finally meeting the elusive Martin Blackwood?”   
Jon’s face burned red and behind him Martin grinned.   
“Yes this is my- this is Martin. We want to adopt a cat.”  
“Do all the employees here know you by name? And know that you have a husband? Or just Ava?” Martin asked, his grin evident in his words.   
“Oh we all know Jon. He comes here regularly to pet the cats, - they all know him too. And he doesn’t stop talking about you. Martin Martin this, and Martin that, all like ‘Today Martin made me tea in bed and packed my lunch for me’ or ‘You’ll never guess what Martin said this afternoon’” Ava said, putting on an impression of Jon’s accent.  
“I- I do not sound like that!” Jon said. 

After teasing Jon a little more, and meeting another person who worked there, a tall man with a thick Scottish accent who was equally as excited to see Martin as Ava was, Ava led the two of them through to the room where the cats were. Jon dropped to the floor, kneeling, as a few cats came to see him, obviously familiar with him. Martin could already tell that it was going to be difficult for him to pick one to adopt. 

Eventually, after at least an hour of deliberating, and attempted bargaining (“Are you sure we can’t adopt more than one? Look at them Martin, they’re so small.”), Jon had picked out a cat. She was a small thing, no more than a year old, and she liked to meow whenever one of them spoke. Jon obviously adored her, told Martin she was trying to be included in the conversation. She was black all over, with almost-golden eyes. All of these factors led to them deciding to name her Jinx.   
“Not a military ranking? Are you sure?” Martin had asked, the carrier balanced on his lap as Jon drove them home in the car they’d borrowed from Daisy.   
“She can be Sergeant Jinx. Jinx for short,” Jon had smiled from behind the wheel. 

Jinx was not shy by any means. When they set her carrier down inside their flat and opened the door, expecting her to stay inside it for a moment before braving the unknown, she leapt out and across the living room, settling to pace at a reasonably fast pace, sniffing at everything she encountered with little trepidation, pausing for a long moment at the sight of Martin’s ugly clay cat, where it stood beside the TV. Jon sat on the couch, and she sprang up to join him, poking at his legs with her nose before deciding he was a good cushion, and stamping all four paws into his thighs. Jon made an undignified squeak when she hit a ticklish spot, and Martin, watching from the kitchen, laughed. 

\-----

Jinx very quickly found her place in their routine. Jon’s morning routine was now to fill Jinx’s bowl with food, then hover over Martin’s shoulder as he made tea, often wrapping his arms around Martin’s waist. Once he received his mug, he’d make his way to the living room and water his little plant army, then settle and wait for Jinx to be done eating so she could curl up on his lap. After work, Jon and Martin would cook dinner, Jinx making a nuisance of herself and weaving her way between their legs, and then settle on the couch with Jinx in between them, purring contentedly as whatever rubbish television played behind their quiet conversations. 

There were some things Jinx was funny about. They’d discovered very quickly that Martin would have to relocate her while Jon did his T shot, a weekly occurrence reserved for Tuesday nights. The first week when he’d tried to do it, sitting on the couch with Martin on his left and Jinx curled up on his right, she’d sat bolt upright and batted at the vial. So, it became a habit that Martin would scoop her up and carry her to the bedroom while Jon administered his shot. As soon as he was done, and Jinx was allowed back into the room, she would come and poke at the spot he’d done it, before curling up onto his lap as usual. It worried Martin slightly, but Jon found it endearing.  
“She just wants to know why I’m sticking things into my leg. She’s worried, that’s all,” he’d said, the corners of his lips turned upwards in a wry grin. 

When Martin had his next particularly bad flare up, they’d discovered her apparent… coddling was not reserved to Jon. He stayed in bed well past when he would usually, squashed into himself with the pain of it all, thoughts foggy and hard to parse. Jinx, once she’d come looking for him and found him in this state, had not left his side. She wasn’t her usual self though. She didn’t stomp her way across Martin’s stomach like she normally might, sticking her paws in all of his sensitive spots. Instead she lay by his arm, within easy reach of his hand, all of her movements gentle, like she was worried she’d accidentally hurt him. Jon cooed at the sight of them when he returned with Martin’s heat pack and a mug of tea.   
“She’s taking care of you, like a little nurse,” he said. 

Martin had not expected life with a cat to be as lovely as it was. He’d always called himself a dog person, despite not having owned one himself. But Jinx made Jon happier, and both of their lives considerably brighter too. He wasn’t sure he’d call himself a cat person, not yet, but he could definitely see their merits. He was very thankful that Jinx had come into their lives in such a way.

**Author's Note:**

> CW for houseplant death, description of injections (Jon does his T shot), description of chronic pain (Martin). I think that's it.   
> I hope you enjoyed reading! Once again it's just a bunch of me projecting onto my favourite characters lol.


End file.
